Loki's Fall
by ladyfangbanger
Summary: Loki falls from grace in Asgard, he begins his transformation into hatred and rage and forms allies in creatures as twisted as he has become, fueling his desire for revenge.
1. Fall From Grace

"I could have done it father!" Loki screamed, his last desperate attempt to win his father's favour, "I could have done it!" He felt his voice falter, knowing in his heart that it was in vain. "For you! For all of us!" His eyes met that of the Allfather, willing this man, his father, to notice him, to look upon him the same way he did Thor, to be proud of him. He had tried so hard. He did not have Thor's strength, or his accomplishments in battle, he did not have the golden hair of the house of Odin, nor did he have Thor's gift of being immediately liked by whomever he came across. Maidens would fall at Thor's feet, but only looked upon Loki with mistrust, and more often that not, their faces would screw up in disgust. So he had used the few gifts he had, he had lied and plotted, he had double-crossed and betrayed his biological father. He had thrown away all hopes of being honest and heroic because he knew that was something he could never be. Loki had done all this, and more, for the man who now looked upon him; the three men of the house of Odin, stuck in a moment, suspended in space and all Loki could see was that one eye. The eye which had seen so much, now turned it's judgement upon him. That pause seemed as though it lasted for an infinity.

"No, Loki"

Loki felt as though Odin and delved into his throat and pulled out his heart. He saw Thor cry out to him but he could hear nothing but the sound of his world, his entire being, crashing down around him. It hit him like a wave of pain. No, it was more than pain, pain was but a distant memory. His grip fell away from the staff; there was no point to holding on any more. There was no point to anything. He held the Allfather's gaze, that man who was once his father, as he let himself fall into the abyss; he couldn't bring himself to move his body even an inch. He felt paralysed as his mind, and his heart, shattered, and became indistinct from one another. Slowly, all that which he had once known and loved fell away from his sight, and Loki became trapped in nothingness, with only his agony and the icy, callous remains of his heart for company.

He did not know how long he had fallen, his soul writhing and his mind shrieking, nor when he had fallen unconscious. All Loki knew was when he awoke his torment hit him again, angry and bitter it ravaged it's way through his very being, tainting every part of him all over again. Yet this time it was accompanied by something else. He felt it in the pit of his stomach, the pieces of his heart rattled, as though in maniacal laughter, his broken and twisted soul reached to it, like a man in a desert reaches for water. And Loki knew rage.

It spread like fire. It's light chased away the darkness of anguish which he had known for so long and he clung to it, he fed it. In his desperation he cared not that fire has always been the destroyer, he cared not that the dark was being replaced by something far worse. He could not bare to have the remnants of his soul tormenting him any longer and he fed them to the rage. The fire consumed him and became his entity, he was nothing but ferocity and resentment. He felt pain once more, that far distant memory of the sweetness of pain found him, and he was grateful. Loki opened his eyes.


	2. Hell Even Changes Gods

As he took his first conscious breath Loki felt ice hit his lungs like an iron sword. As he took in his surroundings he felt as though he had landed in his own barren soul. The landscape seemed to be carved of hate, everywhere was twisted stone and ice. It was barren, long expanses of rough terrain were in every direction. There was nothing so obvious as mountains, only slight hills as though the very land itself was doing all it could to be as unhelpful as possible, to trip you up, injure you, leave you to die upon it's surface. All was grey, even the ice, nothing here would be as pure as white, it would not have belonged. Nothing good existed here, nothing good belonged here. There was a continuous howl of wind gusting through the plains, fog groping out to any living thing, eager to have you lost in it's clutches. There were the distant screeches of demented creatures tearing through the wind like a dull blade hacking into flesh. Loki breathed in the violent hatred of this desolation he found himself upon and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he belonged.

Loki wandered the frozen wasteland, breathing in the rage and hatred, letting it soak into his every pore. He encountered beast after wretched beast, each as disgustingly delirious with vehemence as the next. As they stormed at him any time of night or day, not that there was any way to distinguish them here, Loki learned to always keep attentive to his surroundings. They would never leave him alone, they were constantly persecuting him. Every single one that found him he killed; there was no point in running away. His killing became more ruthless, he began torturing them, as entertainment, to convince himself of his power over them. It made him feel... whole. When he was cold he would shroud himself in their furs, as though their hatred was guarding him from the elements, and camouflaging him from those creatures which would cause him harm. It became his defence. He ate their meat, feeding on their pain and suffering. It became his nourishment. He was in hell, and he felt more alive than ever before.

It felt like a lifetime before he saw the distant figure, just standing on a ledge of twisted stone. It was dressed all in grey. He should have melted into the landscape, been impossible to see. Yet there he was, and the malignant poison of his being signalled his presence like a beacon. Loki wrapped his pelt closely around him and began to stalk his way towards the ledge. By the time he had made his way to within a hundred feet of this figure it had been days and it had not moved a muscle. Loki had no idea who or what it was but by this point he was the ultimate predator, more beast than man and his instincts told him to be wary. So he waited.

After what seemed like hours Loki felt something. A whisper, inside his mind, but his mind was so broken that the whisper had to take time to mend enough that it could break through. Suddenly he could hear something, but it came from within. The whisper became clearer. _Loki. _He struggled for a moment, trying to understand before he realised that the whisper was talking to him. Loki was his name; he had forgotten that a long time ago. _I can give you all you desire Loki. I can show you unlimited power. I can show you how to wield a power so great that you may rule over any land you please. I can show you how to be better than everyone. Than Thor. _That name ripped through Loki's soul like a red hot dagger. He felt pain and anger. He felt his eyes moisten. His anger flared up at himself as he wrapped himself tighter in hate; of his enemies and himself. Stepping out onto the ledge he had to take a moment to remember how to use his tongue. It unravelled like a creaking leather whip which had not been used for decades, yet he still felt the faintest flickers of silver upon it. He broke out into a grin, one that was terrible to behold, even creatures which were there ready to pounce upon him shied away at the sight of the God's grin and all the malice it contained.

"Show me."


	3. The Decision

The figure turned, his hood drowned his face in darkness, but Loki could feel the hate, the evil, seeping out from underneath like cold heat. He had not felt a presence with more hate than himself in a long time and it made him uneasy. _You are not ready yet. _Now that his mind was beginning to repair itself, the consciousness tore like a shard of ice. _You are still weak, you cannot handle the power we offer you. You still know feelings such as love. _The last word was hissed into Loki's mind with a fearsome force, like sour venom being spat out before it contaminated it's host. _This place cannot show you any more. It has done it's deed. Now you must come with me so you may know your true potential. _Loki's mind began to tick into life once more. He processed the words, taking his time, remembering their meanings, recalling how he once used them to weave his own thoughts into those of others. He felt like his mind was stretching after an age of being asleep. Each part reaching out, testing it's capabilities. It felt wonderful, like he had recovered a lost piece of himself.

"I have survived here." He said, wincing at how primitive his language skills had become. "Here on these barren plains where many would fall and die. _I_ have survived. Does this mean nothing?"

_This? This is child's play. Nought but a test of your worth. It is time to move on, to become capable of wielding a great and magnificent power. To become worthy of your title as king once more. _The figure had moved closer as he had spoken and the hatred chilled Loki. His presence felt like being plunged into ice and he fought not to shudder.

"What is this power you speak of? How do I know it is as great as you claim?" He must be sure, sure that it was enough. His mind, full of energy from it's long rest began racing to form plans. He felt revenge stir inside him and he smirked slowly with the seductive images arranging themselves before him. _You shall not question us! _The voice shrieked into him, shattering his thoughts into pain. _For what other choice do you have fallen prince? _It added with soft menace. Begrudgingly Loki conceded that without this offer his vengeance would likely never come to pass, and that was all he could strive for now. This ideal had been presented to him on a platter and it had already the rooting of a fixation. After so long he had found a purpose and he resolved that he would not stop until he had seen it through.

"What must I do?" He asked bluntly. A laugh cracked like stepping on a frozen lake through his mind. He stopped himself from wincing. _You must understand what pain truly means. _If evil could be amused that is how Loki imagined it would sound like. He paused for a fraction of a heartbeat. But in that time his mind raced. He had endured pain. He knew nothing but pain. Yet if anything could make him doubt his knowledge of pain it was that laugh, it's resonance still ringing through Loki's consciousness. He wanted his revenge. He wanted it so badly he felt every muscle in his body ache with longing. With this offer he could finally have the capabilities, to go unchallenged as a ruler. To defeat all who stood in his way. To defeat Thor. The thought of his brother seared through him like a burning blade and he became consumed with a violent rage. Yes he would have his revenge on his beloved brother. Always the favourite. Always the loved one. And why? Because he was handsome? Brave? Heroic? More like vapid, stupid and reckless. But Odin had made his choice, let Asgard suffer at the hands of his idiot brother. This would be far more personal than taking Asgard. He planned to take that which mattered only to Thor. A direct hit on all which he loved, which he could do nothing to defend. The Earth.

"So be it." He conceded. And Loki was transported to a pit of agony and anger the likes of which he could never have conceived in his wildest imaginings.


	4. Torture

It felt as though a shard of steel had been driven through the top of his head, down through his body, severing every part of him. Yet Loki stood. His arms were held above him in chains, so if he were to collapse his torture would continue. Day after day, hour after hour, they continued, the faceless shadows had burnt and cut and mutilated every part of him. They gnawed at his insides and in his mind he screamed a scream so shrill and terrible he imagined his own ears bleeding from the pain inside. Shrapnel coated his lungs, breathing became a labour he fought hard not to give up on, because once he did it was over, and he wasn't going to let that happen. His innards writhed and his body stood stripped, drenched in sweat. He had touched nothing since his arrival, of which he remembered little, yet he was coated in grime and dirt. As though his pain had begun to push it's way out of his pores because there was no room left within him that wasn't already filled with it. He felt his hair clinging to his face and neck, saturated with that mix of grime and sweat that refused to leave him, like a parasite desperately clinging to it's host. He had acid in his muscles and his biceps twitched as he fought not to give in to letting the chains hold him up. The muscles in his chest and legs also began to twitch and he clenched his jaw with grim determination. The shadows sent wave after wave of mocking screams searing into his head, he knew they could hear how he suffered in his mind but he couldn't stop it. As his struggle continued his breathing became heavier and the shrapnel sliced into his lungs. He tried to shallow his breath but his legs began to shake and he felt so close to giving up.

_NO! _He bellowed into his mind, the screaming ceased and the shadows hissed, sending pain arching through his body. Everything tensed up as though he had been electrocuted, though in reality it was far worse. There was no jolting shock, just a burning, unending pain coursing through his veins. His breathing stopped. Then began even more heavily than before. He felt as though there was nothing in the universe but pain. He could not remember a time before it. He could not imagine a time without it. He would have collapsed but the agony kept every muscle in his body so tense he thought they might burst out of his skin.

Then he began to laugh.

It was a laugh so pure with hatred and pain that even the shadows were pressed back as the cackles reverberated around their beings. It penetrated all that was near made it fearful. He thought there was nothing but pain, but he was wrong. All he had left was standing. He put everything he could into standing until there was nothing left in the world but his concentration on keeping his feet firmly on the ground and his legs straight, though the tight cords of muscle spasmed with the effort. He laughed as the pain coursed through him again, a deep threatening laugh full of malice. They thought they had owned him, he knew they thought they had won. They did not know that he had been passed around as an object for too long now. No one owned him but himself. He refused to fall, to give into them, not after all this way.

So Loki stood.


End file.
